


in spite of me

by wingnutcase



Category: Hololive, Virtual Streamer Animated Characters
Genre: F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Porn with Feelings, also drug use but the drug is watson's concoction (tm), needles are present beware
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 09:52:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29882784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wingnutcase/pseuds/wingnutcase
Summary: Gura likes Amelia's chaos, but not when she visits in the middle of the night and bleeds all over floor. It comes with the package, she supposes. And she is quite fond of the rest of the package.
Relationships: Gawr Gura/Watson Amelia (hololive)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 112





	in spite of me

At first, Gura thinks it’s a dream. Or maybe sleep paralysis. In her dreams, though, she can’t crack her eyes open, roll over, read the glowing red numbers of her clock, groan at the digits she sees, and rub her face. In her sleep paralysis she can’t get out of bed and stumble to the doorway to hear something hammering at her front door. 

So, she thinks, not a dream, then.

The floor is cold on her bare feet. She pauses in the hallway, waiting. She’s bleary-eyed and her heart is knocking in her chest and she hopes maybe it’s just the pipes hammering.

It’s not. Someone is beating her front door in. 

Gura is a nine thousand year old apex predator but she still gets scared, sometimes. 

She opens her door, just a crack at first, but then opens it further as she realizes who it is. It’s Ame. Ame, in her coat, soaking wet, even though the skies are clear and the moon is bright and it makes her wild blonde hair shine. 

“Hey,” Ame says, but her voice wavers. “Can I come in?”

Something dark falls in little drops behind her. Gura smells it, brassy and sharp. 

“Are you bleeding?” She asks her, alarmed. 

Ame shrugs, gives a laugh that turns into a wheeze, and says, “Can’t fool your nose, I guess, hahaaa.” 

Gura pulls her inside, and closes the door shut behind her. “Ame, what-- what happened? Are you OK?”

“Hold on,” Ame tells her, and leans up against the wall. “Can I ask you to do something for me?” 

She’s breathing in little shallow breaths that scares Gura all over again. There’s a tear in one of her stockings and she won’t move her left shoulder. For some reason, she’s undoing her tie. 

“Yeah,” Gura says, because of course she will. Of course. “What do you need?” 

And she leans down, stiffly, and takes one of the syringes off her thigh. “Help me with this.” 

The syringe is pressed into her hands as Ame sheds her jacket and Gura can finally see the extent of the damage. Her left arm’s in shreds. Blood pours in little rivulets down her fingers and onto the floor. Ame says, “I’m sorry about your foyer,” and she starts tying her tie around her right arm, giving it a sharp tug with her teeth to knot it. Then she bears her arm, turned up, towards Gura, waiting.

The liquid inside of the syringe seems suspect, a bright blue. She’s never asked what’s in the Watson Concoction. Or when someone else has, a curious Ina or Kiara, she gives them a cheeky wink and tells them, “Time traveler juice.” 

“Shoot me up, Scottie,” Ame tries to joke, but Gura’s now realizing that her words are slurring. “Please,” she adds, hastily. 

“This? Now?” Gura finds herself tripping over her words. “I can’t. I don’t know how. I don’t want to hurt you.” 

“I’ll help,” Ame says, and she puts her hand over Gura’s and guides her to the crook of her arm. 

“OK,” says Gura. She blinks away tears. 

She presses the needle to her flesh. “Here.” Ame tells her. 

Gura slides the needle in, disappearing into the flesh of her arm neatly, and then pushes the plunger. Ame hisses and closes her eyes and Gura hopes she’s doing this right. When she’s this close, with Ame’s head dropped onto her shoulder, Gura can smell ozone on her. Like the moment before lightning strikes. It’s what happens when she time travels. 

She smells like something else, too. Salt water. The sea. Something deep and ancient. She’d never forget that smell. 

The syringe is emptied out. She slides the needle out of Ame’s arm. 

“Did that-- help?” She asks her. 

“Yeah,” Ame sighs.

“What about your arm?” Gura asks her, and her hand hovers over it, afraid to touch. 

Ame grunts. “Can I use your bathroom? For a, uh, triage, not, like, to pee in.” 

“Hold on,” Gura says, “Let me get you a towel.” 

She rummages around her closet to find a towel she’s not attached to. Gura realizes as she’s tossing aside old rags, looking for something clean to wrap Ame’s wound in, that she’s shaking. 

She pauses, clenching her hands together tightly until they turn white, and takes a deep breath. There’s blood on her sweater. She’s never going to get it out. 

“Hey,” Ame appears around the corner, cradling her arm. “It’s gonna be OK.” 

Gura looks at her. Amelia Watson, bleeding on to her floor, reaches out to her trembling hands and gives them a squeeze. Her hands are cold around Gura’s sleep-warm wrists. 

Classic Amelia Watson, Gura thinks, and feels a hot lick of anger rise in her. Shows up dying on your doorstep and assures you you’re gonna be OK. She’d go to her own funeral just to let you cry on her shoulder. 

Gura wraps a towel around her arm and watches as the blood blooms on it. “It better be,” Gura says, her voice rough around the edges on account of trying not to cry. 

“Of course,” Amelia says, and then winces. “Hey, do you have a sewing kit?” 

In the bathroom, Gura undoes Amelia’s shirt, gently peeling away the shreds left of her sleeve, tossing everything into a bloody garbage bag on her floor. Amelia sits, in her bra and panties, on the edge of Gura’s bathtub, and asks Gura to fetch the lighter in her coat pocket. 

The coat is in a wet crumpled mass in her entryway. Gura fumbles with the pockets for a moment and when she pulls the small metal thing she hopes is the lighter from inside, the pocket watch spills out, too. The golden surface gleams in the warm light from Gura’s bathroom, marred by Amelia’s bloody fingerprints. She bends to retrieve it, and thumbs the clear crystal face, smearing red across the numerals. 

She returns to the bathroom. 

Amelia’s head darts up as she returns. “I just realized I can’t do this, haha,” she says, gesturing to the needle and thread in her hand. Her other one hangs limply. “Can you thread the needle for me, pretty please?” 

Gura sets the lighter down on the bathtub, by her leg, and then the watch. Ame’s eye is drawn to it. 

“Hey,” Gura says, as she licks the thread first and then tries the needle. “Were you in Atlantis?”

Ame flicks the lighter with her one good hand and watches the fire burn for a moment. Her shoulders hunch, like she’s embarrassed she’s been caught. “Mmm,” she mumbles. 

“Why?” Gura asks her. 

Amelia looks up at her, her eyes swimming. Maybe the concoction is kicking in, because her smile is wobbly. “Time traveler rules are like birthday wish rules. If I told you about it, it wouldn’t come true.” 

“You know,” Gura says. The thread splits at the ends and evades the eye of the needle once again. “The way you joke around like that is really condescending.” 

Amelia’s grin slides off her face and her eyes fix on the ground. “Ah,” she says, bluster out of her sails, “I get that.” 

The silence hangs between them. Amelia plays with the lighter absently. 

“Yeah,” she says finally. “I was in Atlantis.” 

Gura threads the needle neatly this time. She hands it to Amelia. “Why?” 

“That’s the part I can’t tell you,” Amelia says, and she fires up the lighter and passes the needle over it several times. “Or else my wish won’t come true.” 

Amelia’s emergency sutures are rudimentary, and blue, because this was the thread Gura had on hand, but they’re functional. It was clear this was not the first time she’s done such a thing. Gura is a little overwhelmed at the sight and smell of so much blood, the needle passing through her flesh, and the blue thread pulling it taut, so she goes about throwing Amelia’s ruined clothes away, and scrubbing the blood from her hallway.

When Gura returns to the bathroom with a glass of water for Amelia, she finds her soaking in the tub, staring at the wall absently. The water is rusty as the blood washes off her. 

“You OK?” Gura asks her. 

She blinks, slowly, processing. “Yeah,” she says.

Gura sits on the edge of the bathtub and looks her over, at the many little scars over her body, and her wet dripping hair, at her unfocused eyes that look at her blankly.

“I’m glad,” she smiles at her, and Ame returns it, but she feels hollow inside. Gura brushes her dripping bangs out of her face. “Watson Conction’s got you flying high, I think.” 

“S’mostly adrenaline,” Ame says, leaning into Gura’s warm hand on her forehead, closing her eyes. “And a secret ingredient.” 

“Mmm hmm,” Gura says, thumbing her cheek. 

Ame, at her most vulnerable, reminds her of a cat. Reluctant for company, but gets lonely easily. Affectionate in the strangest ways, and only on her own terms. Hides away from the world when she’s hurting. 

“Hey.” Ame’s eyes open. Gura’s taken aback, startled by the ferocity of her gaze, the pale blueness of them, and she pulls her hand back. “Thanks,” she says. “For helping put me back together again.” 

A question’s burning in Gura’s stomach.

“Yeah, of course,” she says. Gura can’t stop herself. “Can I ask-- why’d you come here?” Amelia looks at her for a moment too long, and then away. Gura continues, “I mean, why me? I’m sure Ina has waaay better bedside manner than me,” Gura barks a laugh, because she’s angry. “And Kiara would have babied you.” 

“Didn’t want to be babied,” Ame mutters. 

“Calli, then. She could have fixed you up right.” 

“Calli might have taken my head clean off,” she retorts.

Gura stares. “Why’d you come here?” She repeats. 

“Because…” She looks like she is struggling to answer, and Gura just keeps her on the hook. “...you ask the least questions,” Ame says, finally, and looks at her as if she wanted her to understand. 

But Gura doesn’t understand. She gets up, sharply, pulling away. “I’ll put some clothes out for you or something,” she tells her, and then walks out of the bathroom. 

  
  


When Ame finally gathers herself enough to get out of the tub, she finds a baggy t-shirt emblazoned with the name of some aquarium and a pair of shorts laid out for her. She spends longer than she’d like to admit gingerly putting on the shirt, but she was loath to ask for more help. 

She steps out of the bathroom and into Gura’s cozy little living room, scattered with games and dozens of potted plants, to find her on the couch with a pillow on her lap. 

“You can sleep here,” she tells her when Ame comes around the other side of the couch. “You can have this pillow but I’m not giving you any blankets. You can freeze.” 

“So gracious of you,” Ame says, and collapses onto the couch beside her. “I am in your debt forever, even if my toesies fall off tonight.” 

She and Gura have always engaged in this push-and-pull-- they’ll tease and joke until things become too serious and then suddenly they’re shy, self-conscious, suddenly too vulnerable, and then unable to face each other. They can sense it in each other, now, when one of them tips the balance too far one way, and then the other scrambles to right them, forever in a give and take where nothing ever goes anywhere. The most painful equilibrium. But they’re both cowards, at heart, and they know it, so nothing will ever be done about it.

So that’s why it surprises Ame when Gura says, “I’m still mad at you.” 

It’s part of their unspoken code to just Let It Slide. But Gura’s not backing down, and Ame’s no good at apologizing. 

She struggles to think of something to say through the fog in her brain. “That’s fair,” is what she settles on. The couch is so comfortable. She’s suddenly so tired, and her eyes are so heavy, and Gura’s shirt is warm and smells like her-- dirt and plants and something briney. “I’m mad at me, too.” 

Gura turns to her. She looks so small with the pillow in her lap. “What’re you mad for?” 

“Mmm,” Amelia hums, and feels herself sink deeper into the couch. “I have two foes, and they’re Future Amelia and Past Amelia and they keep fucking up my life. And Present Amelia is on thin ice.” 

Gura snorts through her nose. “Yeah she is.” 

Amelia drags her legs up to lay across the couch, and Gura, and rests her head back on the armrest. She stares pointedly at the ceiling and says, “I try to fix things but I end up sabotaging them. I am always my own worst enemy.”

She can feel Gura not knowing what to say. To save them both the agony, she throws her hands up and declares, in her most dramatic voice, “I am a saboteur!!” 

She was expecting a snicker for this, but receives silence. When she props herself up on one elbow she finds Gura regarding her with a sort of heartbroken look, which makes her feel all wrong. See? She’s messing this all up, too. 

“That wasn’t funny,” she says, to herself. “I’m striking out all over tonight, huh?” 

“It’s not funny because I think you’re making jokes to cover up how much you’re hurting,” Gura says. “And I don’t like it.” 

“Oh,” Amelia says. “Can’t you just let me get away with it?” 

Gura shifts, and Ame is afraid she’s ruined it again. That Gura would get up, and go to her room, and close the door behind her and she’d be left alone in silence with all her thoughts. It’s what she’d deserve. 

But, instead, Gura moves so that she looms over Amelia, knees on either side of her stomach, her arms braced against the armrest of the couch. Her hair falls in a curtain over her shoulder to tickle Ame’s nose, and suddenly she can’t breathe. 

Gura says, “No, I don’t think I will.” 

Amelia feels her uneasy smile growing awkward on her face. “I’m not used to being held accountable for my actions,” she tries, again, to joke her way out of this. 

“Watson,” Gura persists. “What are you trying to do, all by yourself?”

She meets her gaze this time, and it is so hard to maintain eye contact with her when she is so, so close, and also when she is not playing along with Ame’s charade. 

“I’m not being coy,” Amelia says, “when I say I can’t tell you about time travel stuff. I’m not being obtuse. I really...I really can’t say. Or else it’ll really fuck everything up, like, on a universal scale.” 

“OK,” Gura relents. “I understand, time traveler.” 

She doesn’t. But Amelia can’t expect anyone to. 

“I’m just-- I’m gonna make everything right. It’s gonna be perfect. But sometimes, I’m not the world’s number one time traveling detective who can make it work. Sometimes I’m just a girl.”

“I know. That’s OK. You can always try again.” 

“It’s not, though,” Amelia says. “It isn’t.”

“I say it is.” 

Amelia is overwhelmed. It’s her high, fading fast now, or maybe the blood loss, or maybe the intoxicating way Gura’s looking at her with her big blue eyes-- but she feels herself begin to tear up, which she hates. 

“You’re suddenly the authority on space-time matters, huh?” she snaps, but it doesn’t have any bite to it. 

“I’m the authority on Amelia Watson matters,” Gura tells her and suddenly Ame’s heart swells too full for her chest and she laughs, wetly, because she’s going to cry. 

“You’re so stupid sometimes,” Amelia says. “You have no idea what you’re saying.” Or what it means to her.

“I never know what you’re saying,” she tells her. “That’s never made a difference.” 

Amelia took a shuddering breath, angry at how much she has always been moved by this girl before her. 

Moved to search for fallen kingdoms and hop impossible timelines for people who would never know what she’s done. Moved to keep innumerable secrets to make unknowable futures come true. Moved to bear her own closely-guarded emotions just because a shark is pretty and cares about her. 

“I’m always scared,” she starts, carefully. If she’s going to lay it all out, she’s gonna get it right. “That I’m going to find out something that I’m dreading.” 

Gura leans back, upright. “Like, what? Some deep, dark secret of the universe?” 

Ame says, “That the timeline in which you guys are the happiest is the one that I’m not in.”

Gura stares at her, hard. 

“So I try--” Ame takes a moment to collect herself. “So I wanna. Make sure everything goes right. So I can make you all the happiest I can.” 

“You know that’s, like, literally impossible, right?” 

Ame chokes. She feels like a balloon deflating. This is all wrong, she doesn’t understand her at all--

“First of all,” Gura says, gesturing. “Who are _you_ to decide what _our_ happiness is?” 

“Well I--”

“You think you know what makes us the most happy? You get to determine that?” 

She’s rarely seen Gura mad. As Ame’s eyes dart around, she reflects on how lucky she’s been to not be the subject of this anger until now, because a heated Atlantean shark straddling you is pretty intimidating. And maybe kinda hot.

Ame makes an attempt to defend herself: “I just mean--” 

“That’s _bullshit_.” Gura’s gaze is fierce. “Cause there’s no timeline where I’d be happy not knowing you.” 

That shuts Ame up. There’s a tense moment of silence between them. 

“Even with me bleeding all over your floor and asking you to shoot me full of drugs?” 

“Despite all that,” Gura says, and then thinks. “Or maybe because of it. I like your chaos. I don’t like you almost dying.”

Ame is silent for a long time.

“Wanna know why I came to your place, instead of Ina’s or Kiara’s or Calli’s?” Ame finally says, quiet. 

She’s about to tilt the balance. Gura can feel it, and she’s leaning in. “Yeah.” 

“Cause I thought, well if I’m dying, I wanna see Gura.”

“Mmm,” Gura doesn’t know what to say to that. She feels herself getting warm.

“Maybe that was selfish of me,” Ame laughs at herself. 

“I think that, maybe, possibly, you’re allowed to be selfish. On occasion. Within bounds. You know, Missus Time Traveler Who Needs to Save Everyone?” 

“OK,” Ame says, and then she leans forward and kisses her. 

It’s gentle, pressing, prying them both open. Emptying her out like a good cry. Amelia has been missing out on this for so long. 

She feels Gura’s breath ghost her cheek as she pulls away, stunned by her own boldness. 

“God,” Gura says, breathless. “You’re not doing this just because you’re, like, tripping balls or something, right?” 

Amelia laughs, loud and genuine. “I’m buzzed at best. But I’d still be kissing you regardless.” 

“You never know,” Gura says, and leans in again, bearing over her. “Oh, also, I forgive you for showing up on my doorstep dying. Wanna know why?” 

“No,” Amelia says, turning away. “It’s going to be embarrassing.” 

Gura pulls back from kissing her. “Embarrassing?? We’re making out, but talking about Feelings is embarrassing to you??” 

“Yes,” she says. “That’s it exactly.” 

“Too bad,” Gura says, huffing. “I’m going to talk about my feelings _and_ make out with you.” 

When she kisses Amelia this time, she swipes at her lip, asking to be let in. 

“It’s ‘cause I think I love you,” she says. Her sharp teeth nip at her hungrily, a shark starved. 

“Oh God,” Amelia says in between Gura’s kisses, cringing. “Stop.”

“Might you describe the way you feel for this shark...as hmmmmm Love, too?” Gura teases her, pressing kisses under her jaw.

“I’m feeling like I want to curl up and die, is how I’m feeling.” 

“Out of love?” 

Amelia groans.

“Then,” Gura continues, and one hand travels underneath Amelia’s borrowed shirt. “What do you want to be, exactly? Just two people who make out?” 

“I didn’t say that. I’m not against it. But I didn't say that.” Ame tells her. She brings up her knee to slot neatly between Gura’s legs and Gura exhales shakily. “But I kinda want to be something more. If we’re being selfish.” 

Gura feels her whole body throb. This would, for certain, topple their careful balancing act, one they’d spent so long maintaining. But the way Ame was looking at her now, vulnerable and open, with her kissed-red lips and her damp hair, was impossible to forget about. She’d never be able to go back. She’d always want this. 

“Can I kiss you?” Gura asks her, so close. “Can I touch you more? Can I be the person you always come back to?”

Amelia, her golden eyelashes brushing against Gura’s cheek, says, “Yeah. This time traveler would like that very much.” 

Gura feels herself break out in a grin. “Well, this shark thinks that’s just great.”

Her kiss this time was gentle, lingering. Making up for all the dancing around each other they’ve done up until now. Amelia cupped her jaw and giggled, and Gura’s heart did a flip. She kissed her, and kissed her, and couldn’t get enough of kissing her. 

“Mmm,” Ame says, and presses her gently back after a moment. “What’s that noise?”

“Wha--” Gura’s a little miffed she’s been stopped. “What noise?” 

The sound of something hitting fabric. Gura turns around and finds, mortifyingly, that it’s her tail, wagging from side to side, smacking the couch. 

Gura wills it to stop, crimson with embarrassment. When she turns back to Ame, her mouth is twisted up in a laugh she is dying to let out. 

“Don’t say anything. Don’t even start with me,” Gura growls. 

“You’re such a weird dog,” she says. 

“Shut uuuuuup.” 

“Think I like this dog very much,” Amelia tells her, and pulls her back down by her collar. “Think I wanna bring this dog home with me.” 

“Weird roleplay but OK.” 

“Think I wanna spend the rest of my life with this weird dog.” 

“Oooookay, now we’re talking.” 

Amelia kisses her in earnest. Her hands travel under Gura’s shirt, fingers trailing along her sides, brushing the gills there and making her shiver. 

“Mmmmaybe we should move to the bed?” Gura’s heart’s in her ears, thunderous. 

Oh she wasn’t prepared for the look on Ame’s face. “What if I like it on the couch?” 

Gura’s sweating now. “Ohhhhhhh geez. Alright? Alright. My arms are getting tired, though.” 

“Better get off them, then, huh?” 

Gura squints at her. “You are so insufferable, why do I like you so much?” 

Ame laughs. “Cause I’m a sexy disaster.” 

“One of these things is true,” Gura tells her. “The other is a matter of opinion.” 

She hikes up Amelia’s borrowed shirt. She’s not wearing a bra. It kind of startles Gura and then she laughs at herself cause what, she’s never seen a boob before? Ridiculous. She’s been thinking about Ame’s tits for decades. 

“Mmm, like what you see?” Amelia never stops being smug. 

“Wanna eat em,” Gura tells her. 

Ame deadpans. “Not funny. Or sexy. What’s wrong with you?” 

“Om,” Gura says, and puts her mouth on her tit. 

“Jesus Christ,” Ame says, incredulous. Gura takes this opportunity to bite her, lightly, and then Ame goes, “Jesus _C_ _hrist_ ,” in a very different tone of voice as Gura starts to suck. 

She alternates between kissing up her chest and sucking as Ame’s breaths begin to stutter. Ame smells like Gura’s soap and for some reason it makes Gura’s heart do funny things. She lathes the valley between her tits as she brings one hand up to cup her breast and Gura can barely believe it. Ame seems to like it when she uses her teeth, so she drags them across a nipple and gets a needy, breathy gasp she is going to keep tucked away in the back of her shark brain, perhaps forever. 

Amelia’s hand comes up to thread through her hair, stroking as Gura kisses up and down her chest. With her fingertips, she brushes across Amelia’s stomach, soft and firm. She thinks about all the times she’s wanted to touch her just like this. 

Even the mottled bruises on her arms are pretty, held together with thread. Gura kisses them, too, gently. 

Amelia’s pulling her up, now, missing her lips on Gura’s. They bump noses together, clumsy, and then her mouth’s on hers again. A yearning, wanting kiss. 

When they part, Ame keeps her hands on the back of her neck. “Again,” she says. 

Who is Gura to tell her no? So she complies, and leans in again. This time the heat was immediate, and fire pooled in Gura’s belly as Ame’s tongue slid against hers, bordering on desperation. Wow. Gura’s brain is static. 

Ame shifts and her leg moves up between Gura’s legs and she almost wheezes. 

“Guuh,” she huffs, and short circuits. 

“Ah,” Ame says. “Sorry.” 

“No,” Gura tells her, flushed. “Don’t be.” 

“I think,” Ame says, “Maybe you should take off your shorts?” 

“Yeah,” Gura says, too quickly, practically jumping off of her. “On it.” 

She keeps her t-shirt on, but throws her underwear halfway across the room. Who cares which plant they landed on, she has a detective to ravish on her couch. Ame’s in the middle of taking her borrowed shorts off, a thumb underneath the waistband, when Gura catches her wrist. 

“Wait uhhh," she stutters, “I’ll do it.” 

Ame laughs at her. “Chivalry ain’t dead,” she tells her, and then wiggles her knees. “Come on, then.” 

Suddenly her lounge shorts were hotter than any lingerie. She peels them off, slowly, pressing a kiss on each of Ame’s knees. Ame lifts her ass so Gura can slip them clean off and throw them, blindly, over her shoulder. The way her underwear clings, wet, to her, does not go unnoticed. 

Whoa mama, Gura thinks. Amelia, naked underneath her, pink and ready and wet. 

Gura leans down between her legs and licks her once, in full, and Ame throws her head back and moans. 

“Whoa-a-a cowboy,” Ame says. 

“Sorry,” Gura says, and straddles her thigh, kissing her. “Couldn’t resist.” 

“OK no more apologies, ‘cause I really want you to do that again.” 

“In a bit,” Gura tells her, smug, and brings her hand down between her legs.

She’s slick, and hot, and she makes these quiet noises that travel straight to Gura’s gut. For a while all she does is slide her fingers through her folds, not yet entering, sometimes alighting her thumb on Ame’s clit, but never for very long. Amelia will buck her hips in shy thrusts whenever her fingers get too close to her core. 

If she had been asked to guess, maybe if she had been asked how she imagined it to be, late at night, sometimes, thinking about what it might be like to touch and feel the detective this way-- she’d kind of imagined Amelia to be vocal. But this Amelia, the very real very naked Amelia in front of Gura-- she’s pretty quiet. She would bring her knuckles to her teeth and bite, swallowing her needy sounds in hiccups, her breathy gasps the only real things she allows herself. This is-- and Gura could not have predicted this about herself-- something she finds very, very hot.

“It’s OK,” Gura tells her, stroking her roughly. “If you wanna make a little noise.” 

Amelia-- does she have this right?-- blushes. “Make me,” she says. 

Alright! Thinks Gura. Alright then! She loves this terrible, stubborn, competitive time traveler with her whole heart. 

She slips a finger into her, and Ame shivers. It was easy, and hot, the clinging silk of her arousal coating her fingers already. Gura watches her face, studying the furrow of her brow the way she bites her lip, dragging her finger out and then back in, to the knuckle. 

When she curls her finger, Ame whimpers. 

“Ah,” she moans, and drags her fingers down Gura’s back. “More, Gura.” 

Gura does what she is told and slips in a second finger, scissoring them inside her. She’s setting up a rhythm with her fingers, thrusting them in and dragging them until they’re just at her entrance. She isn’t going fast enough for Ame yet; she can tell from the needy way Ame is thrusting her hips up into her fingers, but that’s something Gura is working her up to. 

The way Ame’s looking at her, her tits moving every time Gura hits a spot that makes her jump, makes her mouth dry. She’s impossibly pretty and Gura can barely believe she’s got her fingers inside her. 

“Come here,” Gura says. With her other hand, she traces her jaw, and then leans down to pepper it with kisses, moving down, down, to her neck. 

She grinds down on Ame’s thigh and feels herself leave a trace there but the way that Ame responds by whimpering cancels out her own embarrassment. By now she’s struck a good rhythm, thrusting up into Amelia and nipping at her chest, feeling her walls clench and throb around her fingers. 

“Mmmm,” Amelia says, wavering. “I’m close, ah, could you...touch me?” 

“Yeah,” Gura tells her. “Anything you want.” 

Her fingers pump in and out. Her thumb moves in tight circles around her clit and Ame’s back arcs sweetly. Gura feels her getting close, too, the way her breath is coming in little pants and her thighs are trembling.

Gura’s still got to hear her. So she leans down, working her with her fingers, nosing underneath her jaw. It’s becoming so much. She kisses, drags her teeth across her pulse point, and bites down. 

Her sharp teeth sink in, breaking skin easily, and she tastes blood, sharp and sweet. 

The effect is immediate, an instant firework going off in her. Ame cries out, strangled, and comes around Gura’s fingers, hard enough that Gura’s pace stutters. She feels her wild pulse with her tongue. 

“Ffffffuck,” Ame manages, clutching at Gura like she’s a life raft in the midst of a wide ocean. 

Gura’s lost in her own pleasure, grinding her clit against Ame’s thigh, lathing her neck and tasting her blood, making her a little insane, a little frenzied, feeling Ame’s heartbeat in her fingers and then she tenses her thigh against her clit and-- that’s it. She comes, moaning into Amelia’s neck. 

Gura allows herself to fold, unlatching from Ame’s neck and collapsing on top of her, both of them breathing hard. When Gura pulls her fingers out, Ame whines. 

“Ah,” Gura says, after they’ve both caught their breath a little. “Do I win?” 

“You wish,” Amelia laughs, brushing Gura’s bangs away from her forehead.

“Sorry about maiming you,” Gura tells her. Her neck’s in pretty questionable shape, kissed purple and bitten red. The bleeding has stopped but she still looks like an animal attacked her. Which, she guesses, was true. 

“It’s OK,” Ame says. “It was hot.”

Gura smacks her. “You are something, Amelia Watson.” 

They lay, spent, together, entangled and sweaty. Just breathing. Ame strokes Gura’s hair and Gura listens to her heartbeat and the rise and fall of her chest. It’s nice. To be together. To feel each other’s warmth, after so many years of dancing around each other, too afraid to meet in the middle. 

“You wanna...come to bed with me?” Gura finally says, putting her chin on Ame’s chest to look at her.

“That’d be nice,” Amelia says, and then laughs. “How funny would it be if you left me on the sex couch to freeze my toes off and you got to go back to bed?” 

“Don’t call my couch a sex couch! It’s just a couch!!” 

“It’s a sex couch now,” she waggles her eyebrows and laughs. 

It’s golden, Gura thinks. She can’t think of a better sound. 

She pulls her up, off the couch, and drags her to her bed. They clean up. Gura fetches another pillow and when she returns, Amelia’s already underneath the covers, and patting the spot next to her. 

“Already making yourself at home, huh?”

“Yeah.” Ame looks very nice tucked into her sheets, Gura thinks. “Isn’t that what you want?” 

“I do,” Gura tells her, and slips into bed beside her. “I really do.” 

Ame turns red. “OK, I brought that on myself.” 

“You did,” she says, and Gura kisses her, just because she can. 

**Author's Note:**

> yeah


End file.
